the train is cutting up above Superior
"we're out in the bush now...way out"
The AM radio sputters, spits static
not even a glimmer of CBC
cassette player bungeed to a hook
four D Cells located...scrounged from flashlights
the tape clicks into gear, hisses, slow
then Ernest Tubb "Drivin' Nails in My Coffin" pours out
loud n' right in the middle of the chorus:
I'm just drivin' nails in my coffin, Lord
I'm drivin' those nails over you
I'm drivin' those nails over you
Sounds like you are out in the Canuck bush, my friend. Glad you got those tunes going. Beware when you re-enter real life. It is wilder than wild in "civilization".
ReplyDeleteLove posts that infuse music into the rhythm of poetry. That train rolls like music, just like your poem.
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